Does the setting sun look back upon the
Day and blame those who upon its rising
Were filled with hope; and at its zenith in
The sky did cheer the glory of it's throne
Welcomed it and gradually forsook it for
The coming night think that it is a betrayal,
A fickle love that lasted for so short a time.
Are these the thought of the sun at twilight?
To seek revenge is that its mood in the azure
Rose at the day's end. Would be a foolish sun
That rues the past or would **** the time to
Come. Know all it seeks to share with us it's
Peace-Proclaim to all all who have faith to rest
Believing that it will rise again on it' s forever
Journey toward the Kingdom to come till all be
On earth as it is in heaven-Father make us know
Make us know the way is love. Bring us home.
In memory of my old friend Jimmy Birdsong who
took me from Bend to visit his family and on to the
Orchards of Washington state and back to Bend...
It is the poets objective to make
The longest waits short; to sum up
History; the whole from its ending
To its beginning, distilling the truth
In its essence and to leave the chaff
To fall away So we can get on with it
Let the glory be, to go on and on. On earth
As it is in heaven Praise and Joy without
End, It is the least we can do for whom the
Bell tolls that we may tell God we know.
That It is now Now that you are with us.
Every moment is a poem
Now or was or will never be
So much it says that among
Them all you have chosen me
I am not that special; plain as
Plain could be, almost generic
I would say of all that is special.
An old man; a penny candy store
That is no more yet I remember He
Saw me and I saw him. In my eyes
He saw his youth of days gone bye
And I saw in him the times long ago.
All is poetry as many poems as stars
In the sky- as there moments that can
Be remembered. Now or Will Be...
Each is special the more so that you
Chose me and I chose you with me
Such is the power of the command to love even
If it be from a God unknown. Even if if we are
Bidden to take forbidden fruit what are these if
God asks for our love we will give it. Know it as
The gift, the greatest gift there is. In it all our
Transgressions are forgiven and the supremest of
Our sins forgotten and this is the unknown God we
Worship The known and unknown God the One we
Obey. Forever and a day a call to love so wonderful
Like an animated picture the long
Blond afternoon stretches far out.
The signs of humanity are all about
But there is no one around-all is still
Then a lone car passes then nothing
Again. The tableau is lonely as it is
Lovely. I do not want to change it
I cannot. I am alone and must be ...
Grateful; and Sad. Slow change like
A picture is all I have No more to
Hope for so I must save all I have
While now whispers with long agos
And everything slowly turns golden
There is the truth we know and the truth that we
Know we do not know and then there is the Truth wdo We do not know that we not know and that makes
all the difference.*
We search for the truth and by definition it makes no
Difference defines what already is true whether
We know it or not and que sera sera but there is the
Other Truth that is and is not that may be the source
Of the miraculous; the magical that exists between
Zero and One. The time between Consciousness to
Unconsciousness to consciousness again. A time of
The merest moment or eternity We do not know and
We cannot even know we do not know until we do.
May the Force be with you and may God bless you.
*A paraphrase of our former Secretary of Defence
If the fabric of my semi pleasant semi-
Bland reality were suddenly to be ripped
Open who would be there beckoning me
A demon or a friend most likely a jester and
Would I go with him? I do not know but if
Not would I regret it to my dying day? For
This I am certain he will not come back to
Invite me again and dear heart already I am
Torn that I a child must part my with love of
Folly. Go knowing the folly of God is better
Than the wisdom of men and I am growing old
What is the advantage of staying here if you are
Still young and fair and foolish elsewhere?
I had just begun reading the preface of William Makepeace Thackeray's "Vanity Fair" when it came upon me to write this poem. I now shall read further and see if he also felt perplexed and whether he chose to accept the jester invitation.